


A storm that blackens the quiet sea

by greenapricot



Series: Lewis and Endeavour prompt fills [5]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, case-related angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 00:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: James takes a long drag and leans against the wall, turning his face to the grey winter sky. It will be dark soon, they’ve been in court all day, yet it’s come to nothing. Less than nothing. He can’t keep letting cases get to him like this.





	A storm that blackens the quiet sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucyemers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/gifts).

> Prompt fill for an [ask meme](https://greenapricot.tumblr.com/post/186838288820/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write) on tumblr for the prompt: Robbie/James, X, a flash of anger.
> 
> Title from The National's So Far So Fast.

James slams out the door, seething, as soon as the verdict is read. In his mad dash to leave the courtroom, jaw clenched against conduct unbecoming of a police officer, he leaves his coat behind, but he barely feels the cold. When he rounds the corner of the building the pavement is blessedly empty. 

“Fuck,” he shouts, lashing out, his fist hitting the wall. The stone is as unyielding as the judge. For a moment, the surge of bitter frustration subsides. He shakes out his hand, flexing his fingers, feeling the scrapes along his knuckles, the places where it will bruise, and fumbles in his jacket for his cigarettes and lighter. 

James takes a long drag and leans against the wall, turning his face to the grey winter sky. It will be dark soon, they’ve been in court all day, yet it’s come to nothing. Less than nothing. He can’t keep letting cases get to him like this. He knows this, he tries not to let things get under his skin, but they always worm their way in anyway. 

Instead of turning when he hears Lewis’ footsteps approaching, James takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the darkening sky.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” 

“I know,” James spits. “That only makes it worse.” Another drag, another lungful of smoke that changes nothing, not unlike all his efforts on this case, but smoking is something to do with his hands besides pounding ineffectively against stone. He inhales, exhales. It’s cold enough to see his breath in front of him even without the cigarette. “Why do we even bother?”

“You know why,” Lewis says, his voice soft. 

James keeps his eyes on the sky, the leafless trees across the street. 

“A fucking technicality. Because that bastard had the money for a team of lawyers.” James sighs and takes one last drag, flicks the cigarette onto the pavement, lights another, and finally turns to look at Lewis. “The systems fails the victims and we’re part of it. It’s sickening.” He waves away the things he knows Lewis is thinking. “I know, I know. We just nick ‘em. But what’s the point if they’re going to end up back on the street again?”

Lewis is watching him, steady, calm, holding James’ left-behind coat. Lewis who also testified in court, in a smarter than usual suit and the tie James picked out for him before they left his flat early this morning. Lewis, because they are here for work, but the look on his face is all Robbie. That look of kind understanding that James had always expected to devolve into pity but never once has. That he now knows won’t. The look that tipped James over the edge—with the help of too many pints one evening—into confessing his true feelings in a clumsy and roundabout way that Robbie understood immediately. _Who else would understand me?_ No one, not like this.

“How many more of those are you going to smoke?” Robbie asks when James stubs out his second cigarette and reaches for the pack a third time.

James sighs. “All of them?”

Robbie gives him a sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he says.

James sighs again. “If it’s not my fault, it’s definitely not yours.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice once in a while, clever clogs.”

James hums and pushes the third cigarette back into the pack. 

“Let’s go home, lad,” Robbie says, holding James’ coat out to him.

Home sounds good. Robbie’s sofa and Indian takeaway and the bottle of whisky James left in the cabinet next to the fridge. James pushes himself off the wall, takes his coat. The wool is rough against his abraded knuckles as he pulls it on. He imagines he can feel the residual warmth where Robbie’s hands were. 

Robbie, his remarkable Robbie, has done it again; stopped the runaway train of his thoughts with nothing more than his presence and a few words. There is worth in what they do, for every case like this there are countless others with favourable outcomes. Despite Robbie’s influence James still hasn’t shaken his tendency to dwell on the negative, though. Maybe he never will, but maybe it doesn’t matter so much now as it used to. James sighs, wistfully this time, and follows Robbie to the car.

_____


End file.
